


And he didn't blame anybody

by mee4ever



Series: Through each other's eyes [2]
Category: The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: M/M, Minor Thominho, POV Minho, Soulmates, but minewt is what this is about, dying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-14
Updated: 2015-12-14
Packaged: 2018-05-06 18:11:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5426768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mee4ever/pseuds/mee4ever
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And when he died, alone and scared, he didn't get the truth then either. At least not the truth he'd thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And he didn't blame anybody

**Author's Note:**

> This is a complementary piece for my fic "See me as you saw me" that is from Newt's POV. 
> 
> I don't fucking know why I keep doing this to myself. Please don't read if you don't want to cry. Or if you're not as squeamish as me, please go ahead. 
> 
> I highly appreciate feedback and you are also more than welcome to point out spelling or grammatical errors since English isn't my first language

Minho was only twenty-seven when he died. It was nobody's fault, it was an accident and he didn’t put the blame on anyone. There were just so much going on, no one to keep things in order when he was supposed to be the leader but couldn’t handle it. That he was depressed and suicidal didn’t seemed to struck anyone as a possibility.

He hadn't killed himself. Hadn't been able to.

He'd been sleeping with Thomas for the last ten years, every now and then. It hadn't been romantic, no, but somehow it hadn't been _sexual_ either. To them, it'd meant intimacy on another level, that they didn't know how to get in any other way and they were the only two who really _understood_. Understood their pain and their loss and their fucked up brains. He would always feel blissful for a moment after and then just regret; as Thomas could never be the person Minho truly wanted.  Never could love and be intimate like this with but plus the romance and with the desire rather than the desperation. Thomas knew he couldn’t be that for Minho, but he didn’t seem to care. He just wanted to be there for him, Minho guessed, even though he could never be with him. Because the person Minho actually belonged to, was dead. Had been for a decade - at least Minho hoped so.

He couldn't think about the fact that Newt might had survived for a long time; cranked out and tearing at the world. No. Newt had died quickly, Minho decided. He hadn't been one of those who lived for years with The Flare to agonize through their bodies. He simply wouldn’t have it. He never could talk about it, there was too much pain and not enough things to distract oneself with after being brought on the wrong track. There was some reassurance to be in the dark and never try to find out more. That Thomas kept things from him, he never got to know.

And when he died, alone and scared, he didn't get the truth then either. At least not the truth he'd thought.

Because, you see, Minho had always believed that there would be time for comfort and consolation and everything explained in the end. It really wasn't. What the end gave him was merely even answers to a few questions, rather just somehow opened up for more of them. After he _knew_ he had died, he breathed again. He breathed and opened his eyes and he was staring at himself, staring at himself. At first it was just a wave of nervousness, when he looked into his own eyes and found himself thinking that there was nothing these eyes wouldn’t fix. It was a strange sensation, because he’d barley ever looked at his own eyes and now there they were. It was with a jolt that he realised that he was looking at himself from where Newt had laid on the ground, Day 1.

Everything was about Newt. And himself. It was a parade of friendship and attraction and security and foolish crushing. His heart hammered, or the blond boy’s really, more than it had ever done in his own body, he felt like he was always on the verge of a panic attack and he would be surprised every time Newt’s body just sort of eased whenever he saw past-Minho. Like he was kept grounded by him and present-Minho so desperately wished he’d had know this because how much more time wouldn’t he had spent alongside Newt and how much more wouldn’t he have touched him. He figured they’d both been young and stupid. Everything can’t always play out as they wanted, they’d gotten to learn that the hard way.

There was no explanation. There wasn’t anyone to tell him what was happening but he found himself not caring. It didn’t hurt, physically. He got to re-live the best parts of his life, with the love of his life and he’d gotten to know that there had been the exact same type of feelings directed towards him. He didn’t need an explanation. No matter what, it felt like… a gift.

They hugged. Panting and sweating and exhilarated and never could he have thought that Newt had wanted him to keep going. There was so many thing he had never known.

When he kissed himself, he would’ve fainted if he could. Because the real Minho had no memory of this, it had in his life never happened. Well, okay, he realised, it had happened, but he’d been out cold by a freaking lightning bolt to the head so he hadn’t been _aware_ that it had happened. He sat by his body, saw the blackness of his skin and the almost invisible in- and exhales and Minho felt himself tip forward. Newt thinking _just once_. Because he’d nearly died, they might be dead tomorrow. They might be dead this afternoon. _Just this once_.

When their last encounter rapidly approached, Minho was scared he would feel The Flare. How it would eat at him and make him think crazy thoughts. How he might think he wanted to kill past-Minho and that there would be no love left. It wasn’t as pertinent as he’d thought when the memory surfaced and flashed to a stop before his eyes. He was screaming at himself, barley heard what he said though because all that really was on his mind - Newt’s mind - was that he was so scared to be left here, to die here alone and to see his friends leave without doing what they were supposed to. Minho from ten years ago was quiet and didn’t dare to meet his gaze and he tried to make him look but then they were heading out and all he could see was the backs of his friends. And his kindred spirit.

There were nothing left. He’d gotten to see two years of his life, his and Newt’s life, from Newt’s eyes and he’d felt the pain and suffering and the immense joy and love that had filled it. He’d felt so much of it himself when they’d lived it and just to know that there had been more to them than they’d been able to phrase or ask for, was enough. It was enough for life, it was enough for death, it was… just enough.

The emptiness sung a song of quiet and suddenly there was only floating and the last of everything. Nothingness and void and somethingness that wasn’t touchable. Minho smiled. He was no longer living,  he’d never gotten to tell his soulmate that he loved him, he was merely a shell and it was melancholic but he didn’t blame anybody.  For the first time, he didn’t even blame himself. It was how it was supposed to be.

When it finally then was Minho’s turn to leave the last remaining shards of his soul to the universe, there was enough solace for peace.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Might do a podfic.
> 
> Like my stuff? [Buy me a coffee!](https://www.buymeacoffee.com/mee4ever)


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